


Split the rhyme

by homestarrunners



Category: Homestar Runner
Genre: F/F, M/M, Minor Injuries, Movie Night, Recovery, but its treated like a major injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 00:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20985557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/homestarrunners/pseuds/homestarrunners
Summary: When he gets to the track, he stands there for a second, face to the sky, eyes closed. And then he starts to run.





	Split the rhyme

**Author's Note:**

> If you haven't read my previous human au fics, here's who's who:  
Declan=Homestar  
Crystal=Marzipan  
Simon=Strong Sad  
Lucas=Strong Bad  
Thomas=Pom Pom

It’s a rainy day in Free Country.  
Declan’s mom makes him take out the trash, and he does it even though it will get his new sneakers muddy. And, as he stands there, trash in hand, hair getting wet, something snaps.

He comes back inside and grabs his keys before heading out to his car. He pulls out of his driveway recklessly fast, going 10 over the speed limit down his street. It’s dumb- he’s recalling some statistic about teenage drivers getting in more accidents- but he doesn’t slow down. His hands grip the steering wheel, chipped polish from when Crystal came over still on his nails. He gnaws on his lower lip, an old anxious habit.  
When he gets to the track, he stands there for a second, face to the sky, eyes closed. And then he starts to run. 

The thing about Declan is that he’s really good at running. He came in the top three in every race except one, and that was because he had a cold. He didn’t miss a single meet. It was something that came naturally. He liked it. He didn’t need to try that hard, because years of practice had made it easy.  
But, that day as he ran on the track, he had to try. First, the rain is hitting his skin and it’s running down his face and it stings, kinda. Second, he’s wearing jeans and a hoodie, not the standard tank top and shorts provided to him by his coach. The water is making his clothes heavier.  
He runs 5 laps around the track. And then he keeps going.  
Each step hits the ground a little too soon, a little hard, a little rushed. And then it hits way too hard.

“Looks like you’ve got a hairline fracture there,” said his Coach, later.  
“Shit,” said Declan.  
“Language.”  
“Sorry. Crap.”  
“What were you even doing out there? It’s not even a day we have practice. _It’s a Sunday_,” like it’s scandalous to even think about. Declan would ask why Coach was even there, but he had a sneaking suspicion that he lived in his office.  
“I was running? It’s kind of what I do.” He’s still got trouble with his Rs. He’s got to schedule an appointment with his speech therapist.  
“Well, you won’t be doing it for the rest of this season.”  
And it sinks in, like,_ fuck, my one vice is gone and I don’t have a different outlet. _ And he leaves the locker room on crutches. And then he goes home. 

Simon comes over a few days later. It’s kinda funny that he’s the first person to visit. Declan thought it would have been Crystal or maybe Thomas, but no. Simon.  
“Sorry about your leg.”  
“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.”  
He sighs at something on his phone.  
“My, um, my brother wants to know if we’re still on for movie night on Friday.”  
They did have a movie night every other week. It was usually some old tape they found, and it was almost always low budget or homemade or bargain-bin-at-walmart quality. It was fun. Last time Marzipan brought muffins. He looks over at the calendar. Wednesday.  
“Yeah, I’ll go. No use just sitting here.”  
Simon smiles. It’s kind of rare to see him smile.  
“Good. I made you some cookies, too, I’ll… I’ll just leave those here,” He says, putting a flat-ish tupperware on Declan’s kitchen counter.  
“Thanks, man,” he said, and he meant it.  
An uncomfortable silence.  
“Wanna play on my xbox?”  
Simon looks at his shoes.  
“No, I’m not really a video game person. Besides, I have to get going. Thanks, though.”  
Before he leaves, Declan gives him a hug. He puts his weight into it, and he holds tight.  
He lets out a shaky sigh when he puts his weight back onto his leg.  
“Bye,” he chokes out.  
He watches Simon walk out his door and down the street.  
Declan walks back over to the counter. Opens the box. On the inside there’s a note:

_Declan--  
I made you these cookies. They’re shaped like footballs. I know you don’t play football but I know you like sports. I hope you feel better soon. :(  
-Simon _

The cookies are good- Simon did a great job with the frosting, but maybe frosting a football isn’t that hard. 

Thursday comes and goes. Declan’s looking forward to Friday, and he tries to keep himself busy. He wants to run but when he puts his weight on his left foot, a pain shoots up his shin. 

And then it’s Friday night. He’s broken out since last week- fuck that, he thinks- and his hair is a little messier than usual. But it’s his friends, his best friends. It’s Lucas and Simon and Crystal and Thomas. They would get it. 

And they did. Of course they did. He sits down on the floor in front of Lucas’s couch, carpet slightly pressed in from years and years of being sat on. Crystal immediately targets his hands, taking note of the way he’s chipped away at the sparkly polish she’d applied last time. She makes a disapproving noise under her breath, and goes in with nail polish remover to finish the job. It’s nice- the chemical she’s scrubbing his nails with is cold, and it feels good. She’s been nice to him since they broke up. Like she’s happier. Less stressed.  
And he gets it, he feels it too. Like the pressure’s been taken off. He’s lucky. Not everyone stays friends with their exes. They weren’t even great friends at first. But it’s been getting better.  
She starts to paint his nails. She’s always been good at arts and crafts, and this wasn’t an exception. Her steady hands were helpful. Declan eyes the bottle to see what color she picked for him this week. Navy.  
Lucas comes in with bags of popcorn. He dispenses them to everyone.  
“Damn, the service here is great,” Declan says, trying not to burn himself, which proved to be a more daunting task than it originally seemed.  
“Shut up,” said Lucas. He put a tape in the player. Declan barely catches a glimpse of the title of the movie, but he can tell from the font that it’s going to be bad and that Lucas is going to end up loving it unironically. It was tradition at this point. It’s how things _were_.  
He doesn’t really focus on the movie once it’s playing. It’s more like the movie is a soundtrack to what he’s really doing, which is thinking. He’s been doing that a lot lately. More than he used to. He thinks about his injury. It still hurts, but its a dull sort of ache until he puts his weight on it. He misses running, because without it he has to deal with his emotions instead of using them to make himself go faster. It was a blessing he didn’t know he had. But maybe it would never have worked. Maybe it wasn’t a sustainable way of dealing with stuff.  
Crystal releases his hand, sitting up and admiring her work. He looks at the room around him. Lucas is leaning up against Thomas’s legs, but every so often something in the movie snags his attention, and he sits up, face close to the TV. Simon keeps pointing out inconsistencies in the movie, and Thomas laughs along with him.  
“Look, his- Oh my god, his shirt changed again. And who is that girl?? I’m certain she’s not the same person from earlier…” Simon’s brow is creased, like he’s actually trying to recall this mystery woman. They all laugh as she trips down the stairs, awkward and so obviously staged. “Oh my god, did she _die???_” Declan says, unbelieving.  
“Yeah, it’s like all the people are made out of dry spaghetti or something,” Simon replies through a mouthful of popcorn. _Maybe I’m made out of dry spaghetti, _Declan thinks and then recoils from because it’s such a dumb thought to have. Or maybe it’s not. He’s never felt so useless before, like his whole life was running and athletics and he never stopped to consider that that wouldn’t always be an option for him. He would run and keep running and keep running, forever, until he was gone. And perhaps even then, he would keep going.  
He just wishes he didn’t let it affect him so much.

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, this one is kinda weird. It's not shippy (yet!) but it's somehow still one of the most self-indulgent pieces I've done in a while. There's more to this, I promise :)
> 
> Tumblr: @homestarredrunner


End file.
